Into the Frey
by BrotherCaptainSheperd
Summary: I came up with this idea after playing League of Legends for two days. What if Garen Crownguard died and was sent to Westeros? What happens when Garen goes to the Frey, literally. (Punny right?) Crossover Garen gets sent to Game of Thrones. DEAD
1. Chapter 1

***Author's Note: I do not own Game of Thrones. I must apologize. I just couldn't resist. I've been playing League of Legends for the past week when an idea came to me. What if Garen went into Westeros? I asked my younger brother. We looked at each other and imagined the Westerosi, Dothraki and Essosi getting cut up by his giant sword. Cooooooool… Anyways so that's why I'm starting a third story coz I couldn't get it out of my head. I won't be putting this in the Crossover section coz I want people to READ it haha.**

 **(Updated: 2/15/2017)**

 **I edited a few things here. Lowered the number of men as I did not originally know the canon number of troops the Freys had. This was then pointed out by Sceonn and Gremlin Jack. My thanks to them.**

 **Chapter 1**

 **Demacian-Noxian Border**

The sun was setting, it's rays illuminating the unnamed fields sharing the border between Noxus and Demacia. These fields had seen battles small and large waged over them. Skeletons could be found still gripping their rusted weapons. These remains would be added to as the two kingdoms fought again and again. New bones and new armor would be added time and again.

Today was no different. The ground was once again soaked with blood and gore as two armies battered at each other. For five days the armies fought. On one side stood the proud army of Demacia numbering ten thousand at the beginning, led by Garen Crownguard, the Might of Demacia himself.  
He was here today with orders to crush the enemy army led by Vladimir, the Crimson Reaper, who had been terrorizing the area.

Following his orders he led the 2nd Steel Legion to these fields. Little did he know that this was a trap, laid by the enemy's Master Tactician Swain. His forces engaged nine thousand men of the Crimson Reaper who pulled back slowly allowing the Demacians to advance. The trap's bait lured the Steel Legion a bit deeper into Noxian territory. A great line of timber concealed from view the trap's jaws. Twenty thousand men under the direct command of the Hand of Noxus, Darius, awaited.

Once the Demacians were at the designated point, the Noxian ambush sprung. Twenty thousand men smashed into the Demacian flanks. They enveloped the Demacians and slowly pushed them into a tight circle.

Even surrounded and outnumbered the Demacians fought relentlessly. They would not give an inch. All they had to do was look at their commander. Garen fought on, his face showing his determination. He would do his duty. Inwardly he was cursing. His instincts were going haywire even before they came into sight of the Crimson Reaper's troops. This must have been what they were warning of.

"We will not falter. For Demacia!" He shouted and his men echoed him in a roar as they fought. They knew that they were not going to live long. But they were men of Demacia. They would never retreat, they would never surrender, they would do their duty and die on the field.

For three days they kept fighting until at last only Garen remained. He stood atop a mountain of corpses, corpses of the soldiers of Noxus and his own brave Demacians. In his right hand he gripped his mighty sword, in his left he held aloft the Aegis of the Legion, the standard's fist moving with the breeze.

He thought of his life, how he had risen through the ranks, how he had fought for so long without an equal. He had become the Might of Demacia and none could stand in his path. Then he had met Katarina. She had been able to match his strength by employing her speed and technique. It had been… interesting fighting her. The only other man who had matched him was now striding forward.

Darius, the Hand of Noxus, carried his large axe easily with one hand. He strode forward with purpose until he stood at the foot of the mountain of bodies.

"Darius." Garen said in greeting.

"Garen."

"It was a trap." Darius nodded.

"My heart and sword, always for Demacia." He straightened to his full height. "Shall we finish this?"

Darius smiled. "It's already finished." Garen felt a pain in his right side. He turned to look at it and saw a blade stuck into his ribcage. His eyes followed the blades handle to a pale skinned hand. As his knees gave way he shifted to face his killer.

Katarina smiled at him sadly. "It had to be done. You could not be here if we were to crush Demacia."

Garen grimaced. "Leave… the.. banner where.. it is… for Demacia.." Each word was a struggle as the darkness enveloped him.

He had done his duty to the best of his ability. Now he would rest, he thought as he settle back into the darkness. Then a woman's voice spoke softly in his ear though he could see nothing.

" **No, Champion. It is not yet time for you to rest."**

Garen frowned. "Have I not earned it?" he asked.

Musical laughter wafted into his ear. **"Yes you have, my champion. However another land has need of you. Will you deny the innocent of your strength?"**

He didn't need to think about that. If innocents were in need then he would go, even if it meant he would not receive his rest. "I will not. It is my duty as a Demacian."

He could almost hear a smile in her words. **"I chose you well. I shall send you to the lands of Westeros. There you will be reborn as a babe. Be warned all will not be as it seems and you will endure great pain and trials."** He shrugged at that. He had endured pain before, it would be no different.

"May I ask who you are, my lady?"

" **In the world you will enter I am known as the Maiden. I cannot abide the suffering that wil come upon the innocent. That is why I took you as you died. I ask you, will you champion the innocent? Will you defend the weak?"**

"I shall do my duty, my lady, like any son of Demacia would." Garen felt a warm hand over his heart.

" **Farewell for now, champion. May we meet again."**

The next thing he knew, he was wet, warm and uncomfortable. He felt walls squeezing him and cried out in pain. He tried to push against the walls but found his arms weak and the walls slippery. He felt the walls squeeze him along a short passage then felt his head being grasped by a giant hand. He roared his protest or rather tried to. The roar came out as a babe's crying to his ears. He frowned.

"Oh it's a boy. Aww… look at his face. He's frowning." The giant's hand was joined by another as he was cupped and handed over to someone. He struggled against them but couldn't. Angry he slowly forced his eyes open.

His eyes took in the kindly face of a woman who was rather large if he was not mistaken. Her feature were delicate, her skin pale. Her nose matched his own in his former life though. Her hair was brown and fell in rivulets. Her brown eyes gazed into his.

"Look, look he opened his eyes." The gasps and chatter increased. He turned his head around to see what was happening. He was in a birthing room, surrounded by women in grey clothing. He turned back to the face of the person that was his mother in this world. Her tired face lit up as she seemed to recognize the intelligence in his eyes.

"This one will be great. What shall I name you, little one?" She thought for a moment. "How about Gerrold, hmmm?"

Garen shook his head as emphatically as he could. The women surrounding his mother gasped and exclaimed over his apparent understanding as his mother went on to suggest several names. Garen was becoming quite exasperated when he felt a familiar presence. He saw the Maiden in ethereal form, unseen by the other occupants of the room glide in to stand beside his mother. She leaned over to her ear and whispered.

"Oh I know. How about Garen?" His mother exclaimed as the idea caught.

He smiled and nodded. His mother shook her head and laughed. "Well then. Garn it is. Garen Frey. I know you will become a great man. May the Seven watch over you always."

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXTime SkipXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Garen grew fast and true to his mother's expectations proved himself to be intelligent beyond his years. This was probably because he was implanted into a new born babe. He began learning to speak as soon as he was weaned. He hated having to rely on his mother for sustenance. When he reached the age of four he snuck into one of the courtyards to train. He wanted to get back to his former strength as soon as possible.

His mother caught him one day as he lifted a wooden sword twice his size and thwacked away at a training dummy with difficulty. The men-at-arms who had seen him sneak in had only watched in amusement. His mother attempted to forbid him from going to the training yard until he was older but he refused.

A year passed and he became strong enough to lift the training sword with only minimal difficulty. News of his doings spread all over the Twins, which he learned was the seat of his family. He was summoned by his father, Lord Walder Frey, patriarch of the Frey family and ruler of the Crossing.

When Garen came into his presence he thought he would find a middle aged man. He was sorely disappointed to see his father was a wrinkled old man with a coarse tongue.

"So you're the brat my men are talking about." His father's beady eyes narrowed.

"I am Garen, my lord." Garen decided to be polite since he was under this man's roof.

"Hmmmph… How old are you boy?"

"I am five, my lord." Garen replied. His father grumbled something about manner at that age and dismissed him. He immediately went back to training but found several of his older relatives waiting for him.

One of them pushed him to the dirt. "You are a brat. Go away and leave the real men to train."

Garen had never backed down in his life but when he looked at the height of his tormentor he decided that it wouldn't be backing down it would rather be using his brain. He left quietly to find a spot to train. This routine continued until he was twelve. He would sneak into the courtyard and train before the crack of dawn. The older members of his family would find him and beat him up for disobeying. He would then go off on his own and train some more. After that he would go to the castle's library and educate himself.

The castle's maester, Maester Errun, took a liking to him as he was an apt pupil and listened with rapt attention to everything the maester taught him. He learned of the Great Houses of the history of Westeros, of the wars that plagued the lands especially the war that began when he was born, Robert's Rebellion. He promised himself he would avoid becoming a tool for anyone unless he chose to be their tool.

A few days after his twelfth name day his mother, Cyranna Swann, took ill and died. He had grown to love her as she had taken care of him and made sure he had most of his needs answered. He was the fifth child to be born to her and his abundance of siblings did nothing to help him in his sorrow. To make matters worse, his mother was not yet cold in the grave when his father took up another to wed.

Garen's anger boiled when he received the news and he went to the courtyard to train. Again he was surrounded. Among his tormenters today were Emmon and Aenys along with several of his cousins.  
"How many times have I told you boy never to come here?" Emmon demanded, shoving him back.  
"Get out of my way, Emmon." Garen growled.

Emmon and the rest laughed. "Oh look at those teeth. You got a mouth on you boy. Maybe we need to remove it." He drew his sword. Garen drew the blunted bastard sword he was using to practice. Emmon scoffed as the sword was taller than Garen. He drew his own sharp longsword and prepared to teach Garen a lesson. He was joined by the rest of the gangas they circled around Garen who stood stoically in the center of their formation.

The men training in the yard stopped what they were doing to see the spectacle. Garen took a deep breath and waited. Emmon was the first to charge. He sidestepped the blow and swung his sword. Even as a child he was strong and the blow hit Emmon's stomach, driving the air out of him and reduced him to coughing.

Giving the rest no time to recover from the surprise Garen pressed the attack. The guards saw a spectacle that day. Eight tall youths, some of them grown men, hard pressed to defend themselves a boy of twelve who wielded a bastard sword taller than himself.

He knocked a weak stab aside and brought the flat of his blade down on the attacker's head, knocking him out cold. He spun around and caught a downward chop that would have cleaved him in two if it had connected. Letting it slide off his sword he delivered a kick to the balls that made all the spectators wince.

Giving the same treatmeant to Aenys he swerved to avoid another sword and brought the flat of his sword to meet the man's nose. Blood spurted out as the man fell, clutching his nose. Garen turned to face the three that remained standing. They wore frightened looks on their faces. They had expected a weakling. Even if he had gone for none lethal blows he had still beaten them. They wavered as Emmon got to his feet.

"Well what are you cowards waiting for? Kill him." He growled. Seeing they were afraid Emmon decided to do it himself and attacked with his sword raised in the air. Garen ducked the blow, causing it to sail harmlessly past him. He then brought his sword down on Emmon's left wrist. The bastard sword, though blunted, was used with enough force to cut right through the limb, lopping Emmon's hand right off.

Ignoring Emmon's screams, Garen turned to the spectators. "They attacked me, a few days after my mother dies. If any dispute my right to defend my honor, then come forward and taste steel." Silence reigned in the courtyard for what seem like an eternity interrupted only by Emmon's screaming sobs.  
"Gods boy. Your great grandmother must have been raped by a Clegane to have that strength." The shrill voice of his father rang in the courtyard. Garen looked impassively at his father who had his new wife under his arm.

"To use on your own flesh and blood too."

"They attacked me. Honor demands I defend myself." Garen snapped.

"Maybe a Stark raped your grandmother as well since you can't stop spouting honor this and honor that."

Garen turned his back on his father and walked away. From then on the rest of the bullies learned to avoid Garen. The later sibling, nieces and nephews that came learned that if they wanted to be safe from harm all they had to do was gather around Garen. He entertained them with stories of his life as the Might of Demacia, which he of course didn't mention that he was the hero in the story.

Garen led by example and the house was soon divided between those of Emmon's ilk and Garen's pack. Emmon, of course, never forgot the insult and injury done to him and neither did the seven that were with him. They formed the core of the group that always harassed the little ones when they could. They however seemed to avoid anything physical when Garen was around. Walder Frey did not know or care what happened.

Garen was ten when the Greyjoy rebelled. His father was called to his liege's banner. Garen watched his father ride out of the Twins with his men behind him. Walder Frey, true to his nature, left only at the last possible moment and moved a snail's pace to answer his liege's call. Garen snorted in disgust. Steffon Frey stood behind him with an amused smirk on his face.

"No wonder they call him the Late Lord Frey huh?" Garen smiled. Steffon always knew how to put a smile back on his grandfather's face or rather his grand uncle, as Garen insisted he call him. It was certainly confusing to try to keep track of who was who as the Freys had so many among their number and were still growing. Despite almost all the youths who followed Garen were older than him, they remained loyal to him. Garen was almost as tall as the rest of them so it didn't seem that much.

"No matter while he is gone we can proceed with our plans." The boys had made plans with several of their fellows. It was clear that Walder Frey did nothing to provide lands for the rest of his brood so they decided to build their own. They had studied a map of the Frey holdings and picked a spot near the border of the lands of House Reed along the coast.

There they planned to build a small fort that they could later enlarge into a proper castle. From there Garen planned to add a harbor to. Eventually he hoped to have a castle to rival the Twins. Their group rode out the moment Lord Walder's party was out of sight. They had begun putting their plans into action the moment Garen heard of the Ironborn raids. They had gathered men willing and able to aid them in their endeavor.

After several days of riding they came upon a bandit camp situated on a hill. The hill commanded a vantage point over which miles and miles of terrain could be seen. Once he saw it Garen decided it would be there they would build. It was perfect. The hill already provided a natural view and the castle would overlook both the land around it and the sea.

There were two hundred men with them including the various Frey relatives outnumbering the bandits three to one but Garen declined to send them into battle. He wanted to wipe the stigma of his father's action from their name. He asked for ten volunteers to follow him into the bandit camp. The men looked at him like he was crazy.

"If I do not lead from the front how do I expect you to follow me?" Garen replied before walking up the hill. At first he thought none would follow him that the cowardly attitude and influence of his father had prevailed among his blood. Then Steffon fell into step beside him followed by nine others, most of them Freys. Perhaps all was not lost, Garen thought, a smile fixed on his face.

A few moments later they stood at the entrance to the bandit camp. The bandits swarmed out of their tents and gaped at the audacity of ten men attacking fifty.

Garen turned his head to his men.

"First To the Frey!' He shouted drawing his sword. His men drew their swords and echoed his cry.

"First to the Frey!" The bandits were slaughtered with no casualties whatsoever among the Freys.

Garen gathered the entire party that accompanied him and addressed them.

"Listen men. Throughout the lands our house is mocked. We are the late, the never there and the cowardly. Today that changes. First to the Frey, last to leave. We will wipe the smirks off their faces. We will give them no reason to doubt our honor, our courage or our skill."

His men raised their swords in the air and roared their appreciation to his words. Garen wasted no time putting the men to work. He had brought along mason and carpenters as well. During the months that followed they work from the crack of dawn until dusk. They dug a deep cellar for the storage of food. Next they built a large keep of stone hewn from a nearby quarry they established. The keep took two months to build, for Garen it took too long but according to the masons they had never seen a keep rise to fast. Next they built a barracks, a smithy, a greenhouse and a stable. Around this they built a temporary wall of earth and wood.

The walls were completed just in time for news of Balon Greyjoy's surrender. Their lord father was returning.

 **A/N: Tell me what you guys think. The continuation of the story will depend on the positive feedback so please read and review. And there. Only minor editing required.**


	2. Chapter 2

***Author's Note: I do not own Game of Thrones. Alright here it is. Another chapter of Into the Frey. Based on the positive feedback I am getting I take it that you guys are interested in Garen Frey, formerly Garen Crownguard of Demacia, making his mark on Westeros? Just leave a comment guys.  
**

**(Updated: 2/15/17)**

 **Didn't change anything. Just check it over.**

 **Chapter 2**

 **The Twins, Riverlands**

A week after his lord father returned, who kept himself and his men at the rear of the advance to the Iron Islands, several weeks ahead of the other lords leaving for their own homes he was summoned to the Twins by a messenger.

He arrived with an escort of ten of the Freys loyal to him. He entered the audience hall with a calm mask, ignoring the smirks the rest of his "family" gave him. Finally he stood before his father who sat hunched over a table.

"Well how many are yeh?" Garen blinked his confusion at the question. It didn't even make sense. What was his father asking?

"Did you leave your tongue up there with the rest the men and materials you stole from me, boy?" The old man snapped. "Never mind. How many of my brood followed you to build that small castle of yours?"

"Twenty, my lord." Garen replied steadily.

Walder Frey snorted. "Humph… Not nearly enough. I heard you killed a few bandits on the way. Should have brought more of my brood. Might have shortened my burden by a few lopped off heads." The last part was mumbled but the entire room gasped.

His father continued as if he had not heard anything. "Smart of you boy. You built the castle right along the border of the Reeds. That way it looks like my idea. Not a bad one at that. Well at least it got twenty of the leeches out from here. The maester is drawing up a deed. Do what you want with the land but remember." A bony finger pointed at Garen's face.

"Pay your dues, boy. Now get out of my sight." Garen bowed slightly and left, the faces of his sibling and relatives were priceless. He almost wished he had a memory to record their faces but then again he didn't want any remembrance of the awful greed prevailing in the Twins.

The ride back was uneventful. When he rode into the castle courtyard he was greeted by a large group of smallfolk around his nephew, Steffon. He dismounted and pulled Steffon aside to talk.

"Well what did the old man want?" Steffon asked.

"Sometimes I don't understand what goes on in that senile brain of his." Garen muttered. Steffon merely raised his eyebrow.

"He gave us a deed to the land in and around the keep." Garen's confusion was clear. Steffon laughed.

"He probably wanted less of us cramping up the Twins." Both of them smirked. "Moving on. Those smallfolk out there seem to be our first smallfolk. They want to join us."

"Very well build them some shelter until we decide where they will work." Steffon threw a mock salute and left.

Walder Frey gave ten miles of land in a radius around the castle Garen had built. Most of it was dense forest or covered by a large mountain. It would seem like useless land to some but to Garen who had some knowledge of magic? He personally surveyed the mountain and found rich deposits of iron. The forests abounded with game to feed his people until such a time that they could grow their own food. All in all not bad for a selfish cowardly man who kept breeding more selfish and cowardly men, not that Walder knew that when he gave it to them.

Garen could sense a certain feeling of malevolence in the air when it was cold. His instincts told him there was more to this land than what appeared on the surface. He had failed to trust his instincts before and it had resulted in his death and being sent here. He set about building a base of strength.

The next five years passed by quickly. The walls of wood disappeared, to be replaced with huge ramparts of stone. The walls of the castles in this land were puny; in fact the castles themselves were puny. He had seen many fortresses in his time in the army of Demacia both defending them and besieging them. The ones here, at least that he had seen, were nothing.

He determined that his people would not be the same as the others. The walls were thick and built to Demacian engineering specifications. The masons here had scratched their heads when they saw the plans he had drawn up. Why would one put giant statues of stone holding warhammers? Each of the castle's gates had two of them. The castle itself was a fortress which had a wall twice as thick as the one surrounding the castle town. Inside it were the main barracks, stables, greenhouse and castle smithy that were all getting enlarged.

The keep was already enlarged to his satisfaction. Its hallways also had giant stone statues with their warhammers. He had designed the castle to have holes to let light in. The light then hit the glass in the hammers and gave of light. This was true night or day. It felt almost like he was back in Demacia. It was also a cover for when he found a way to arm the crystals within the hammers so that they could fire on any attacker.

The castle town was large enough to house eight thousand people. Most of them were employed by him. The land immediately surrounding the castle was cleared of all trees, bushes and obstructions for a mile. This gave the castle a clear field of view. The catapults, ballistae and trebuchets he had commanded the approach. No army was taking this castle without massive casualties.

His castle had a thousand men he was training personally. They had grown strong. Not as strong as he was but he had made them go through Demacian training. They had complained at first but when he was done with them they would be the strongest and most loyal men in the Seven Kingdoms.

Demacian discipline was hammered into them day after day. Sometimes he almost slipped and called them Demacians. It was getting hard to remember they were not Demacians when he had them responding to the familiar commands.

Garen was extremely busy. He had surveyed the lands around him personally to find resources and minerals. Using the sensor magic he remembered he put out sensor wards in various places until he found the massive caches of iron in the mountain. He drew up plans for the castle and the mines build. He also designed the port that was taking shape just outside the outer walls. Having it there made it convenient but also put some risk.

To lessen the risk he placed a large number of heavy batteries facing the port as well as two of the guardian statues that were the first things built in the port area. Again most of his masons scratched their head when he ordered the statues built. It seemed more practical for them that he would build the port and keep first before going for cosmetic statues. If only they knew.

He had also taken a small group of smiths and swore them to secrecy. When he was assured of their loyalty he taught them the art of Demacian smithing. He had to spend the bigger part of two years with them to make sure they didn't get the runes wrong. If they did then well… No more castle. The castle, was named Hammergard, was his home now. If it exploded because of the wrong combination of runes? He shuddered.

Their first batches of weapons and armor were just now being equipped to his soldiers. Their work was of course not as strong as the stuff made in Demacia but it was definitely stronger. He had sold the steel they had used before for a profit to Tywin Lannister who seemed surprised to find Garen a sharp mind despite his youth.

Garen had also spent a month forging a replacement for his greatsword. Another month passed as he went to work forging his armor. When he was done his people stared in awe. He had grown to six feet despite being only fifteen. The exercises he did made his muscles bulge and his armor only served to enhance his bulk.

Steffon had starred as hard as the others. "How are you able to move in that?" He had asked his jaw almost reaching the ground.

Garen had just chuckled as proceeded to go through a series of moves with his gigantic sword. The looks on the faces of people when he went visiting other keeps was hilarious. They always tried to gauge his strength but jaws dropped when they saw the massive sword on his back.

As part of their training, his men were sent to patrol every inch of his land. Bandits and outlaws quickly found that the quickest way to die was to stay and prey upon innocents on Garen Frey's lands. Garen would even lead a pursuit outside his territory and into the territory of his neighbors if it meant crushing them.

Smallfolk flocked to his lands as word spread of his terms with smallfolk. They were completely protected from any harm and were assured that if harm did come to them then they would be avenged and their families taken care of. They were also only required to serve half a year for their lord. This was unlike the other lords' lands where one had to work the entire year and merely trust to their lord's generosity.

The smallfolk of Garen's lands were soon known for their industriousness and loyalty to Garen. In the years that came the people of the land soon came to differentiate between the Freys who lived at the Twins and the Freys that lived at Hammergard. It was a bit confusing since Walder Frey had not made them into a cadet house even if the Freys at Hammergard had adopted Garen's personal standard, a bridge with a large sword bisecting it, as their standard. It was embossed on all their shields, embroidered on all their flags and hewn into the stone of the walls. They even adopted the saying Garen gave them "First to the Frey" as their words unfortunately they were officially still of House Frey.

However, to their attitudes were completely different from the Freys of the Twins. They were honorable to a point and sought to keep their word at all times. They were educated and skilled in combat so to avoid insults the Freys in the Twins were called Trident Freys while the lands began calling the Freys at Hammergard Freys of the Narrows, because of its location along the coast of the Narrow Sea.

 **Highgarden, The Reach, 296 AC**

The sun's rays peeked over the hills, bathing the land with its warm morning rays. A cavalcade of heavily armed soldiers followed the curve of the road leading down to Highgarden. Smallfolk walking on the road quickly got out of the way even though the riders slowed their horses at the sight of them. This gave the peasants enough time to stare at the sigil the standard bearer bore. It was a white bridge bisected by a vertical golden sword.

Garen cursed his luck. To his right Steffon punched Deron, a fifteen year old cousin of Garen, who snickered along with him. The past years had been extremely busy for him. He had gotten into a debt of five hundred thousand gold dragons with the Iron Bank. This had been spent on building his now massive castle.

No army could go down the Neck without attacking Hammergard or, for that matter, go up it. The massive castle had drawn the regard of the Reeds and their overlords, the Starks as well as his father's liege the Tullys. The Lannisters as well hadn't been particularly happy to see a mighty castle held by their rival. He could field an army of two thousand trained men added to whatever levy was called up. His people were happy and content. His forges had fully equipped the entirety of his forces and forged an impressive armory. His granaries and cellars were filling up nicely. The smallfolk all around spoke of him in awe.

This was all well and good. However it put him in massive debt. Fortunately, Tywin Lannister had been searching for a valyrian steel blade for his house. When Garen had inspected a valyrian blade he found that it was indeed similar to Demacian steel except its runes were written smaller and more refined. With this discovery he forged a sword that had no difference to a valyrian one. He then had negotiated with the Lord of Casterly Rock. The Old Lion was almost pathetically eager to get his hands on the blade. He offered a million gold dragons for the sword. When Garen offered to reforge it to make it a sword becoming of House Lannister the lord almost frothed at the mouth.

The result of the deal was two million gold dragons for a superbly forged blade as strong as valyrian steel with lions dancing along the blade and golden lion's head at its pommel. It also left the Old Lion quite happy with the Freys of the Narrows.

All the business of building, debt paying and such had left Garen without any source of amusement. That was the reason for this little trip to the south. Steffon and Deron had pushed and pushed until Garen had relented and left Hammergard in the hands of his cousin Malvor and ride south. There wasn't really much of a plan, just the vague idea that Garen needed a break from the monotonous labor back at Hammergard.

On their way down south they had actively hunted down slavers and outlaw bands on the way. In a particularly daring raid, Garen and his personal guard attacked and wiped out the notorious Blood Arrow outlaw band. Rescuing captives held by the outlaws Garen left none of the bandits alive. The freed captives eyewitness accounts of the fighting were earning the Freys a reputation for combat, at least the Narrows branch.

Then they had reached the Crownlands where they heard of a tournament to be held at Highgarden in a few months in honor of Margaery Tyrel's name day. Upon hearing this the members of the Freyguard, who Garen treated as family, had rounded on him to go to the tournament. There they would see him win glory and maybe woo a lady.

Garen had caved and turned his massive charger in the direction of Highgarden. The massive red destrier, Cherus, was almost the twice the size of a normal charger and was the only horse capable of carrying Garen. Garen had gotten a strain of horses from Braavos. There was a man there who raised horses in the mountains of Andalos. They grew large and strong over there. Garen had spent a hundred golden dragons getting horses to outfit his men with. The Andalosian horses were already interbreeding and begetting horses of Cherus promise.

They could spot the towers of Highgarden in the distance. Garen pressed his lips together as the two Freys at his back were still snickering. He sighed. It was going to be a long week.

 ***A/N: Hey guys. Hope you like this. Also I would like help with the next parts. I don't really know how to right romance maybe because I've never had a girlfriend (I'm straight by the way) so I if I decide to have courtship and lovey dovey stuff I can't really describe it well. A big "HELP!" shout out to people who know how to write romance please? PM me or review or both please!**


	3. Chapter 3

***Author's Note: I do not own Game of Thrones or League of Legends. I hope this is interesting to you guys.**

 **(Updated: 2/15/17)**

 **Nothing new here either. Just checked it.**

 **Chapter 3**

 **Highgarden, The Reach**

Garen and his party's arrival caused some commotion as the Freys came within sight of walls. Garen could see the castle's famed gardens from his viewpoint. Hearing murmurs he jerked his eyes back to his path. All along their path, both smallfolk and nobles alike were talking. Most looked curious but not a few showed open hostility or disdain. The curious stares were mostly centered on him while the hostile ones would glance at his standard before running through his men in contempt.

Garen looked around him to see the reactions of his men. They sat ramrod straight in their saddles, their faces still as stone. The standard bearer sat straightest of all, his arms stiff and out, holding the standard proudly. Garen smiled at his men's response. They weren't intimidated by the hostility they encountered.

A small group of men stepped up to bar the party's way. The fox of House Florent adorned their tabards. Their sneering faces spelled trouble.

"What have we here?" The leader of the group, a muscular brute, smirked. "Frey knights?" The tone he used was clearly mocking.

Garen's men growled, their hands on their sword hilts. Garen nudged his horse forward. The giant charger came to a stop and snorted hot air at the man's sneering face.

"You seem to forget yourself. If you insist on acting like trash instead of knights then I will treat you as such." Garen growled from his height, this coupled with the towering glare of his charger, who seemed to want to bite of the Florent's ears caused the Florent to step back.

"This isn't over." The man stuttered as he backed away, intimidated. Garen simply watched them leave.

He turned his horse away from the main collection of tents where the various knights had pitched their quarters since they weren't invited to stay in the some of Highgarden's rooms. He selected a spot on a small knoll, separate from the rest of the knights. Though he did not expect to be invited to sleep in quarters prepared for him he did not wish to sleep beside bigots.

His men went about setting camp and pitching the tents. The horses were fed and watered. His personal standard was planted next to his tent's entrance.

They set a stew to boil on the large singular kettle they had brought along. Into it went several large cuts of deer along with different vegetables they had bought from farmers. It turned out delicious as Deron had turned out into a good cook. Of course, Steffon would die before he admitted it, but Deron's cooking was something the entire party could eat without praying to the Seven to remove any poison within.

It irked him that a boy nearly ten years his junior was better than him at something. Not that he could do anything about it. Garen had considerably lightened Deron's load as his squire in exchange for Deron taking over as cook for the band.

Steffon was currently sulking on one of the logs as Deron showed another area he was better than him, singing. Garen left the group as they went into another rendition of Battleborn.

Wanting to explore the famed rose gardens he placed his massive sword, Justice, on his back plus two concealed knives, one at his side and the other in his boot. You never know what enemy skulks around in the dark.

The walk was quite long for Garen and his men had purposely camped outside and a ways the walls but Garen didn't mind. He walked on, lost in his thoughts, his plans to the future. He entered through the large gates, the sentries letting him pass without preamble. He could see lights signifying that a large feast was ongoing.

Ignoring the noises he continued his walk until his surroundings gave way to gardens. The moon's light illuminated the path, what the moon didn't shine on, the feast's lights did. He wandered aimlessly until he came to an arbor of glass.

Strangely, the arbor had two torches alight, casting their golden glow in a circle around the arbor. Garen shrugged and took advantage of the light to inspect the flowers. In his former life he had scorned such actions as he was taking. He was the Might of Demacia, stronger than a hundred men, champion of the kingdom. He had no time for frivolities.

His death and subsequent rebirth in Westeros had changed his view. He still was a driven man, working tirelessly for the betterment of his lands and people. But he now took time to admire nature.

He knelt and lightly pulled a golden rose to his nose. Inhaling deeply of its fragrance he sighed.

"Most men do not take the time to admire the beauty of flowers. What makes you different?"

The voice came from behind him. Garen whirled, his hand going to grasp the handle of Justice in preparation for an attack. He belatedly realized that the voice was that of a woman, an old one. He saw an old woman wearing green embroidered gown, tailored to her age, and a blue headdress.

He released his grip on Justice and bowed from his waist. "My lady. What a surprise, am I intruding? If so then say the word and I shall leave."

The old lady waved his bow away. "Ah.. Manners from such a young boy. One wonders what will happen if the next generation loses all respect for their elders." She motioned to a stone bench. "Come sit with me. These old bones can't stand for too long, I'm afraid."

Garen immediately moved to the woman's side and helped her to the bench. The lady nearly refused his help but accepted it as a courtesy. "May I ask what is a lady such as yourself doing out here? The night is a bit chilly."

The woman snorted. "I appreciate your concern, young man, but I'm not dead yet. A little breeze is nothing."

"Of course, I meant no offense. I also notice that my lady has not answered the question." Garen said with a slight grin.

"Oh? So there might be a little brain to go with the brawn needed to swing that chunk of metal." The woman smiled.

Garen grinned. "I would hope so, my lady. Otherwise my men would desert and my people starve."

The woman seemed to put a face of mock surprise. "And a heart to go with the brain and brawn. I hope you are not trying to court this old bag of bones. I am afraid the time for bearing children has long passed for me."

Garen threw his head back and laughed. Smothering the laughter to small chuckles he smiled in appreciation of the old lady's wit. "May I propose a deal, my lady?" The woman raised an eyebrow.

"Answer my question. In exchange I shall answer yours?"

"Hmmm… A fair and equitable trade." She tapped her chin in thought. "Agreed but you shall answer mine first."

"Very well." Garen spotted a fallen rose on the edge of the garden plot. Picking it up he brought it to his nose again before answering. "Life is too short. It would be a shame for one to pass through it without enjoying its small treasures."

The woman nodded in thought. "Spoken like a man of many years yet you seem too young for such heavy words."

"I hear the unspoken question, my lady. I am of sixteen namedays, a small amount compared to yourself."

"And yet possess such wisdom. Hmmm… A deal is a deal. I saw you walking from the balcony and wondered what a young man like you were doing at the gardens alone. A pretty flower you have picked."

Garen smiled as he stood to his full height. "The prettiest flowers often hide the sharpest thorns. I am merely enjoying life's little treasures. I'm afraid I need to leave you, my lady. It is getting late and my men may get worried." He bowed to her and left. The darkness caused him to miss the woman's eyes sharpening at his words.

The woman's gaze remained on his receding back. "He has left, granddaughter. You can come out of the shadows now." A rustling revealed a beautiful young lady wearing an exquisitely embroidered dress.

"Who was that, grandmother?" She asked, her eyes trained on the last place the knight had disappeared.

"An interesting boy, a very interesting boy." The grandmother paused. "Come. We must return. A nameday feast isn't complete without the celebrant."

"Of course, grandmother." The young lady took her grandmother's arm as they walked back to the lights.

 **The next day**

The crowd cheered, the Frey men the loudest, as Deron kept pace with the top contender for the archery contest. They shot arrow after arrow into their targets, coming almost tied. Deron's opponent, a Tarly archer, was considerably more experienced. Deron failed to notice the wind currents and hit a bit wide on his mark while the Tarly bowman hit the center.

The Freys cursed at the loss but clapped when the Tarly went over and shook the dejected Deron's hand. Garen ruffled the squire's hair good naturedly as Deron came back to the group.

"Don't worry, lad. You'll get em next time." Steffon promised. Deron nodded but kept his disappointed face. Garen motioned for Steffon to leave him be. The squire needed to get over it on his own. Next up would be the melee tournament. Garen left for his pavilion followed by Deron. Most of his men went and secured a spot among the crowd to watch the melee.

Deron grunted as he lifted Garen's pauldrons onto his lord's shoulders. Tightening the various belts he gave Garen a thump to signify that all was good. Garen hefted a sword not unlike Justice in size and weight but was blunted according to the rules. He left his tent, followed by Deron who carried Justice in a large leather scabbard.

"Ahh… So the weasels come out of their holes to fight. I would have thought scum would like to battle other scum not play with the knights." Garen stopped and looked to the source of the mocking tones. He recognized the Florent knight who had accosted his party on their arrival. This time, he was accompanied by twelve other knights, five of them in Florent colors.

Deron was making as if to draw his sword but Garen just smiled. "I would think the Florents would refrain from insulting themselves but it seems their stupidity has proven me wrong." The spectators to the little altercation chuckled at the barb Garen threw back.

The Florent knight reddened with anger and stepped forward but was held back by his fellows. Garen grinned, turned his back and walked away. "You watch your back in the melee today. Bad things happen to scum." The Florent yelled at Garen's back.

Garen ignored him and walked on. His path was blocked again, this time by a slightly older man with close cut brownish hair and a slight beard. He was dressed in Tyrell colors but with two golden roses instead of one.

"He will not be fighting with words in the melee, ser." The man said.

Garen nodded. "If he is better at the sword than he is with his words then I should have something to look forward to."

"He also will not be alone." The man pointed out.

"No one should be alone, especially not in battle." Garen said with a smile. The man laughed.

"You make this hard, ser. What I am trying to say is that a temporary alliance might be of some use to us both."

Garen's eyebrow went up. "Oh?"

"Let us step into my tent. It would be easier to discuss this in private." The man motioned to follow him.

"Of course. Lead the way." Garen followed the man to a large pavilion near the main tournament grounds. Taking the proffered seat Garen waited for the man to speak.

"Pardon my manners. I have been remiss. I am Garlan Tyrell, second son of Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden."

"I am-"

"Garen Frey, lord of Hammergard, sixth son of Walder Frey, lord of the Crossing."

"How did you know who I am?" Garen said a little ticked at the interruption.

"Please, the sigil on your shoulder gave it away. Besides only one wields a sword that large, even the Mountain doesn't carry one as large."

"Well, I guess that does make sense." Garen said sheepishly.

"Now to get to the point. The Florents hate us Tyrells. Always have. They believe they should be ruling Highgarden not us. So they would do anything to humiliate us. Most likely they and their allies will attack me after they finish with you." Garlan took a look at Garen's grin before amending his words. "Or at least try to finish you. I propose a temporary alliance until all other contenders are beaten. That way all is fair and the honor of both you and the Tyrells will be intact."

"Not all is fair in love and war." Garen said. "But a temporary alliance would be best. It would be interesting to fight you alone."

"Then we have an agreement, ser." Garlan stood up and offered his hand. Garen shook it.

"Yes we do but please. Call me Garen. We are allies after all, even if it is temporary."

"Then you must call me Garlan." The two knights smiled then left for their respective posts.

Time crawled as Garen waited for the melee to begin. A fanfare of trumpets signaled its start. He eagerly rushed out of the corral.

He ran to the middle of the field and began dispatching the men around him.

 **CLANG!**

 **THUD!**

Without an edge his sword was basically a long mace. He smashed his opponents to unconsciousness. He saw Garlan surrounded by the Florent group. The crowd gasped as the Tyrell knight ducked several blows. Garen rushed to his aid. Gathering his strength he jumped of the back of a downed knight.

A knight in Hightower colors made as if to block his way.

" **RAHHH!"**

Garen slammed his sword into the ground. The blow was precisely aimed so as to hit the sword but not the knight himself. The knight had an open faced helm which did nothing to hide his fear and shock as the Frey descended. The blade hit the knight's sword with so much force it shattered it.

A upward blow sent the knight flying. Eight other knights blocked Garen's path to Garlan. Gritting his teeth Garen gripped his sword.

" **I SHALL NOT FALTER!"** He roared. His muscles remembered the thousands of hours of practice. Every motion was accounted for, planned out and not wasted. He spun his sword in perfect circles as he moved forward. The crowd watched in wonder as Garen's move sent knights flying in several directions.

Garen smashed through the last of them to see Garlan being forced to one knee. He bull rushed Garlan's opponent, knocking him several feet away. Garlan grabbed Garen's outstretched hand and was pulled up.

With a move that seem choreographed the two knights went back to back, Garlan with his sword and shield and Garen with his greatsword. The Florent group was getting back onto their feet. Not all of them had been knocked out.

"So partner can you handle your side?" Garen asked, his excitement evident.

"Oh? What jest is that?" The Tyrell replied, mirth seeping into his words.

Garen let a sword scrape down the side of his blade to send the pommel of his sword into the enemy's face. As the man went down the knight behind him received the flat side of Garen's sword to the side of his head, knocking him out.

Garlan deflected a sword thrust and brought his sword down on a Florent's helmet. The metal dented and the man collapsed. He ducked a warhammer blow sent by a Hightower knight. Feeling Garen move, he sidestepped. Garen brought the flat of his blade on the Hightower knight's head. Garlan knocked away a sword meant for Garen's back.

They looked at each other before giving the other a short nod.

The melee devolved. Independent fights wound down as the other fighters were drawn to the fight between the Florent group and the Garlan-Garen duo.

Deciding that defeating the duo was a better use of their time they joined the Florents in attacking them. Garen laughed as the numbers against them grew. He hadn't fought this hard since he had died. He glanced at Garlan who sported a large grin.

To the crowd it seemed as if the two could read each other's minds. They moved in tandem to each other. When one went forward to attack, the other shielded the unguarded knight's back. When an attack wasn't enough to knock an opponent unconscious and another attack was out of the question, the attacker would shift away to allow the other to deliver the finishing blow.

Often times Garen took the blows meant for Garlan on his pauldrons as he lacked a shield and his sword could only block a certain number of weapons. Garlan was often forced to leave the finishing off to Garen since the Frey had a longer and larger reach.

Garlan panted hard as he looked wearily on the results of their teamwork. A literal mountain of wounded and unconscious men lay under them. Only one opponent remained, the Florent knight who originally insulted Garen.

Garlan stretched out his arm in a gesture that clearly said "all yours". Garen was also breathing hard. He nodded in thanks and walked forward.

"St- stay back." The Florent backpedalled. He tripped over a body and fell on his rear causing the crowd to laugh. The Florent disregarded that. He had just witness two men defeat the better part of fifty men and the man he had insulted was walking toward him. He scrambled back as fast as he could. His back hit the wall separating the spectators from the melee grounds.

Garen stuck his sword into the ground and proceeded the few feet to the cowering man. He sighed as the telltale stink of piss wafted from the man.

"Next time remember that for every smart fox there is a smarter hunter." With that his fist met the Florent man's jaw, knocking him out. The crowds cheered.

"So many wise words from such a young man." Garen recognized that voice. It belong to the old woman he had spoken to the previous night. He glanced up. Directly in front of him was the box/dais/enclosure reserved for the hosts of the event, the Tyrells.

Seated close to what only could be Mace Tyrell, was the old woman he had talked to the night before. He smiled and gave a short bow. Ignoring the murmurs he walked over to his sword.

"So, you know my grandmother." Garlan said, his sword resting on his shoulder. Grandmother? So that would make her Olenna Tyrell, Queen of Thorns. She seemed to enjoy the look on his face as he turned back to stare at her.

The Tyrells on the dias stared. Garen had shaken it off and put his hand on his upright sword. He was going to continue the fight? Even after that fight beside Garlan? The Queen of Thorns smile matched that of Garlan.

Garen pulled his sword clear of the ground and placed it on his shoulder. He grinned at Garlan's smile.

Garlan did more than smile. He threw his head back in laughter. "Oh we are going to be friends. We have the same definition of fun." He readied his stance, his shield between them, his sword tip pointed at Garen.

The stands were silent as the two opponents stared at each other. Through fighting with each other they had discerned each other's next move. Garen was going to go for an overhand strike to Garlan's body or head. Garlan would try to deflect the large sword with his shield and return with a backslash to Garen's head.

In a flash they charged. Garen went with his overhand strike which Garlan was able to deflect. However, the force of the blow was too much to deflect in the way he wanted. The shield pushed it to Garlan's right.

Garlan spun, meaning to hit Garen with the pommel of his sword. His eyes narrowed as his sword hand was caught in a grip of steel.

Garen let go of his blade and grabbed Garlan's hand with his left. For a few seconds they struggled nose to nose, snarling at each other. Then Garen reared his head back. Garlan's eyes bulged as he realized what was about to happen. Too late for him to do anything, Garlan felt as if he had been hit with a hammer.

Garen stuck his sword in the ground to support himself as Garlan crumpled to the ground unconscious. The crowds were silent for a bit then roared. Loudest among them were his men.

On the Tyrell dais, jaws were stuck on the floor, all but one. Lady Olenna's smile had not disappeared throughout the short contest between the two former partners.

"How can you smile when my brother has been beaten?" Loras Tyrell snapped. A cry of pain signaled the landing point of Lady Olenna's fan.

"I can smile because I find a worthy player." She replied.

"What do you mean grandmother?" Margaery Tyrell asked, gazing curiously at the victor.

"An alliance of convenience, honored for as long as the terms stated. Then when the partner became an enemy, a threat, no mercy, no hesitation hindered the dispatching of the threat." Lady Olenna pointed at Garen who was carefully helping Garlan to his feet. "Then compassion and charm used to turn today's enemies into tomorrow's allies. That is a player one can respect. We need to see where this one stands."

Margaery nodded. She had not been trained by the Queen of Thorns for nothing. After all the Game was everything. She was also the sister of knights. She wondered how this Garen Frey would do in the jousts.

 **A/N: And done. So next up is the jousts and feast. Did you guys like the skull bashing? Read and Review please.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey people! I'm back for a bit with the fourth chapter. My excuses for not writing range from a tinsy writer's block to being plain busy. I'm writing again as a belated celebration to earning enough Influence Points to buy Lux. Anyone up for a challenge? I got a laser beam for yah! XD**

 **(Updated: 2/15/17)**

 **Nothing edited here either.**

 **Chapter 4**

 **Highgarden, The Reach**

"How in seven hells did you do that, Garen?" Steffon demanded.

Garen laid his sword down and sat on one of the logs his men had positioned around the campfire. "How did I do what exactly?" He asked in an innocent tone.

"Don't you start. You may be my grand uncle or something but I'm not afraid of hitting you."

Garen grinned. "I'm telling you, you need to be more specific."

Steffon sighed. He knew through experience that this was Garen, joking around.

"The whirling thing you did with your sword. By the Seven, how did you not make yourself puke, I do not know."

Garen chuckled. "It's a secret." His men groaned at his answer but persisted in their line of questioning. It was the first time they had seen something like that. The reason for this was, of course, Garen had been unsure of his body's constitution. He wanted to be sure that he could move the same way as when he fought in Demacia before attempting to use his old techniques.

The bickering Freys were interrupted by their lookout. Technically, you wouldn't call them a lookout as this was a military group. Despite them being in neutral territory, Garen had ordered pickets be placed in a circle around the camp.

It was these guards that noticed a group of riders approaching. As they were off a ways from the other camps and far from the road, the only destination of these riders was the Frey camp. The camp entered a state of readiness between full battle ready and alert. Any force that expected to stumble upon an unprepared Frey camp, if the Freys were from the Narrows, would be in for a surprise.

Garen groaned as the pickets reported that the group were Tyrells. They were allowed through to the main camp but the Freys maintained their vigilance. Half of the men faced outward in case of an attack while the other half positioned themselves around the Tyrells, discreetly of course.

"Do you plan on killing me or inviting me down, Frey?" An amused Garlan asked.

Garen nodded to his men and waved Garlan over. The Tyrells dismounted and walked over to the fire where Garen had resumed his former seat.

"So what brings a Tyrell over to a Frey's campfire?"

"Can I not visit a friend without my motive being questioned?" Garlan said in a hurt tone.

Garen snorted. "Not in Westeros, you can't. It's night, it's my campfire, I'm a Frey and this is Westeros."

Garlan chuckled. "Yes, we noble houses do tend to play the Game all the time."

"You still haven't answered my question, friend."

"Well Father felt that it wasn't right that the winner of the melee dine on food cooked over a campfire."

Garen frowned. "What's wrong with eating such food? It should be mandatory for all Westerosi men. Its might take the sticks out of their pompous asses."

One would think this would offend the Tyrell, who are among the richest of the nobles of Westeros, but this was Garlan Tyrell. He was a simple man who needed only plain fare and a sword to be happy. He laughed as he found in Garen a kindred spirit.

"Regardless, you are invited to sup with the higher lords at the feast."

"It was your grandmother who put you up to this wasn't it?" Garen stated with a deadpan expression on his face.

Garlan scratched the back of his head and laughed awkwardly.

Sighing, Garen went to his tent to clean up. Deron was immediately on the scene with warm scented water, Garen had no idea where he had gotten, and shaved Garen. Garen changed to his regular armor (Normal skin) and put on a new blue scarf.

A few minutes later, the Tyrell cavalcade rode back with Garen, Deron, Steffon and a squad of Frey guards. The ride to Highgarden was uneventful.

As they entered the feasting hall everything quieted down. Then Lord Mace Tyrell stood.

"Ah he has arrived." Turning to the crowd he announced, "Ser Garen Frey is to be congratulated once again for his victory in the melee today. Now to the feast."

The hall was large enough to accommodate several hundred guests. Around the edges and close to the wall were tables laden with food and surrounded by chairs for the guests. To the front of the room was a raised dias where the Tyrells and their main sycophants were congregated. To another corner was a smaller dias where a group of musicians played.

Garen headed to the edge of the tables to eat in peace but the Tyrells had different ideas and by Tyrells I mean Olenna Tyrell.

She motioned to Garlan, who was standing next to Garen, next thing Garen knew he was being led *Cough push Cough* to the Tyrells.

Garen whispered his protests to a snickering Garlan while the Frey companions barely held in their laughter.

Coming to a stop at the Tyrell group, Garen bowed to the Lord Paramount of the Reach and his wife followed by a deeper bow to Lady Olenna.

"Good evening, my lord and lady." Garen addressed Lord Mace. He then complimented them on the tourney and the feast. Big mistake. Lord Mace Tyrell apparently was a big fan of me, myself and I… AKA he loves listening to his voice. Garen struggled to keep the grimace off his face and to respectfully nod at opportune moments.

He had encountered petty lords during his time as a top general in Demacia's army. He had avoided all political events as much as possible, preferring the clean cut nature of the battlefield as opposed to cutthroat politics. His sister, Lux, was much more active on the political scene and was considered as one of the best candidates for queen, at least that was what he was told.. then he died. Anyway, despite his dislike for politics, he was still a noble of the Crownguard Family. As such he was taught how to deal with politicians and those skills carried on in this life. It did not mean a lot of it stuck though. It also didn't mean he was by any means an idiot when it came to social graces, just enough manners to enable him to survive social gatherings such as this.

"Excuse me, father, but grandmother would like to borrow Ser Garen for a moment." A soft, melodious voice spoke. Garen turned toward to see one of the loveliest women he had seen (in Westeros. Let's face it. Freys aren't pretty people.).

She was wearing a green gown with a low cut front (no freakin idea what it's called but it's the one where people can see the top half of her breast/chest area), serving to show off her budding bosom. Her luxuriant brown hair fell naturally to the sides of the dress. (She does have brown hair, right? The series and the pictures do not help. It seems to change depending on the shot, picture and lighting.)

Lord Mace sputtered in the background as the young lady tugged on Garen's muscular arm and led him over to where Lady Olenna was standing.

Garen bowed to the Tyrell Matriarch, hiding the relief of having escaped the hot airs of Lord Mace Tyrell.

"Ah the young man older than his time."

Garen chuckled. "It would seem that we have neglected to exchange the simple courtesy of knowing each other's names, Lady Olenna."

"Garen Frey. Ser or Lord, depending on who you ask. Said to be among the rare few Freys who have not inherited the odious traits of that weasel Walder Frey."

"Grandmother." The young woman admonished.

"Of course, where are my manners? Lord Garen, this is my granddaughter Margaery, for whom this extravagance has been hosted."

Margaery curtsied as Garen bowed once again as he said, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Margaery."

She waved a hand. "Please, call me Margaery."

Garen shook his head. "I feel we do not know each other enough to go by first names but if it is your wish." He scanned the crowd stoically as Margaery looked him, expecting him to say more.

Most men, especially those of her age would be fawning over her like rabid dogs, intent on gaining her attention and maybe her affections as well. It would seem that this Garen Frey was different. Well, to tell the truth, he was different from the stereotypical Frey. Martial prowess was expected from men who carried around a sword so it wasn't unusual for a Frey to know how to fight but the way he fought was so different from anything she had ever seen there was no comparison.

Then there were his words with her grandmother as well as his actions during the melee. Her older brother Garlan had, in a surprise move, made an alliance before the melee. Said alliance decimated their opponents. Then they had, by mutual consent, turned on each other. As her grandmother pointed out, that showed a mind capable of weighing an offer or alliance's worth. Everything translated to the Game so it could be assumed that if it applied to alliances then Garen Frey would not sit idle should a threat appear against him and his own, whether it be from foe or friend.

The words exchanged between him and her grandmother showed, according to her grandmother, wisdom beyond his years. Speaking of her grandmother, she was standing of a few feet from them, observing them silently. After a few moments of silence with Lady Olenna observing, Margaery suppressed a sigh. It was probably a test her grandmother had concocted. For what purpose she had no idea but the goal was obvious: to get this young lord to open up.

"I would have expected a bit conversation from a male who is about the same age as I. Is there something I have done to displease you, my lord?" She asked, her hand touching once again his firm arm.. Where did that come from?

Garen turned to her. "No, my lady, however to my shame I find myself without anything to speak about." He replied honestly.

Margaery's jaw nearly dropped. Who in their right mind would admit that to a beautiful woman such as her? (Modesty at its best) Most men would make something up rather than be caught without anything to say. Then again, I believe we have established that Garen is not most men?

A giggle escaped her as she glanced at her grandmother. There was a small smile on her grandmother's lips and a gleam in her eye. A discrete wave to the musicians positioned on a raised platform caused the ambient music that the author has ignored until now change.

Margaery gained the gleam her grandmother had. It was time to see if Garen Frey could dance. Before she could say anything though, Garen spoke.

"Would you care for a dance, my lady?" He asked with a bowed and an offered hand.

Margaery hid her pleasure in a curtsy. "It would be my pleasure, my lord." She replied, accepting the proffered hand.

They walked to the center of the room/hall, amid the other pairs of dancers. Now dancing was one aspect of his aristocratic education that Garen had not neglected. After all, battle was a dance between opponents on a massive dance floor aka the battlefield, duh.

Holding Margaery in his arms, he led her through the series of steps and twirls that the current dance required.

"Who knew you could dance, my lord?" Margaery asked with a pleased smile on her face as they danced.

Garen smirked. "It may be the one bit of social grace I have in my whole body, my lady."

"Oh come now, my lord. It is not all. You are a surprisingly chivalrous man." She contested.

"For a Frey, you mean."

A look of horror appeared on her face. "Err.. I did not mean.. That is to say I meant nothing by it, my lord."

A mischievous grin appeared on Garen's face. "Relax, my lady. I was merely teasing."

A blush came to Margaery's cheeks and she looked away for a second. When she returned her gaze to his face she saw the grin fade to a somber look.

"It is such a shame that many of the slights and insults against those of my blood are true." He said in a sad tone.

Margaery felt her heart tug at the pain and anger in his words. Her left hand slipped from his right and touched his jaw. The world flowed in slow motion as all the two dancers saw were each other. "You are one of those rare men who are not who they are because of their families but instead you are who you are in spite of them."

Garen was silent for a moment. "Your words touch my heart, my lady." He paused before continuing with a smile. "You should be more careful. A few more words like that and I might kidnap you like Prince Rhaegar did with Lyanna Stark."

Margaery laughed. "You also might want to remove your hand from my jaw. Those around us seem to have taken it as part of the dance and have followed your example but the dance is about to end. They would be suspicious if you continued. Look." He continued.

Margaery reddened but followed his instruction. She glanced around the room. Sure enough, their fellow dancers were dancing with the female partner's hand on their partner's jaw in the same position she still had her hand against his warm jaw. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her grandmother standing next to her mother with an unreadable expression on her face.

She surreptitiously slipped her hand from Garen's jaw, down along his shoulder and arm, and into his large calloused hand.

She glanced around and saw the other dancers had followed her action and now had their hands in their respective partner's hands. Maybe, gods willing, she would be able to pass it off as part of the dance? She peeked over Garen's shoulder at her grandmother.

Nope. No way.

The dance ended and the participants clapped. Garen then escorted her to her mother and grandmother. Her mother immediately gushed on how beautiful she looked and danced. Her grandmother was looking at Garen who had a blank face (poker face, they don't have poker. If it was described from Garen's POV then I'd write poker face coz Runeterra has poker but its Margaery's POV so no.)

"Did you enjoy the dance?" Her grandmother asked in a sweet tone that was supposed to be innocent but to anyone who knew her meant that the Queen of Thorns was out to have her fun, read embarrassing people, meaning her.

"Immensely, your ladyship." Garen replied, innuendo thick in his voice as he matched the gleam in Lady Olenna's eye. Margaery barely suppressed a groan. The Queen of Thorns was on the warpath of humor and the one man who caught her eye from all those present was matching her wit for wit.

"Come now, young man. You may call me by my name just as you must call Margaery by her name." Her grandmother replied, all catty. No one who heard, could mistake the command when she said the word 'must'.

"Of course, Lady Olenna." Garen replied, a tone of fondness entering his voice as he continued. "You wouldn't mind, would you Margaery?"

Horror spread over her face. By the Seven, there are two of them.

"What are we talking about? What's going on?" Her bit of an airhead of a mother spoke up from the corner of the small group.

This time Margaery couldn't stop the groan from escaping her lips.

 **A/N: I'm really sorry. This chapter was supposed to go out Sunday but I was occupied with arranging stuff for my Grad pic and papers. Really sorry. But yeah, I'm back. If it's a bit short please forgive me.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: And another chapter haha! Did you guys miss me? Yes I'm not dead… yet. Just kidding. Your reviews are heartwarming and encouraging and hence the new chapter. As many of you know, reviews are the nectar of the fanfiction gods for us writers. Please leave a review on what you think afterwards if you still want me to continue. Thank you.**

 **Okay from now on this is the legend:**

(Words)- Author's thoughts

 _(Words/Thoughts)_ \- Character's thoughts

 **Coz its confusing okay?**

 **(Edited: 2/15/17)**

 **Lowered the number here too. From ten thousand now its two thousand. Thanks again to Sceonn and Gremlin Jack.**

 **Chapter 5**

Garlan was laughing his ass of as he escorted Garen to his room. Yes, you heard right, Garen got his own room. Why? Apparently, Lady Olenna decided that they were digressing from their duty as host and that Garen deserved a room, as winner of the melee. Of course, Garen refused to budge until his men were given room out of the cold in one of the inns of Highgarden.

As touching as that was, Garlan was still not over Margaery's actions earlier. He and his grandmother teased both Garen and Margaery over it. Margaery reddened and for the most part remained silent. Garen laughed and joked along with them. He knew that as a mere sixth son of a lord he was not eligible for Margaery's hand.

Well, to be fair he may be a sixth son but he was a lord in his own right. His castle and lands controlled a portion of the Kingsroad going north. As such it garnered much as trade passed through his lands. His castle was a stronghold like no other. Its size was imposing despite being smaller than Winterfell. Its defenses were impregnable as the one who designed it was one of the great Demacian generals to have lived, not that anyone could know that but still.

The Stone Sentinels that rose throughout his city/stronghold were slowly gaining the progress he needed as he felt the magic that had vanished from this world return. They still did not have enough to zap any intruders but they would now glow at night.

His lands were extremely fertile as his granaries and food vaults were filling up to the brim. His coffers were filling out nicely as the aforementioned trade through the tolls and merchants docking at his port brought in money. His people were happy and content. He smiled at the thought. The goddess who brought him here, the one they called the Maiden, would sometimes visited them in dreams. Sometimes at night, dusk or dawn the inhabitants of Hammergard would hear a woman singing. The song could be heard throughout the entire city and whenever it happened people stopped whatever they were doing to listen.

The song varied, depending on events that occurred, the weather and perhaps the general mood of the goddess. As a sign of his gratitude, Garen nearly renamed his home Maidenblessed as a tribute to her. But before he left, she visited him in a dream and told him he could rename it after his old city. After all, if his old city hadn't trained him as well as it had then perhaps the goddess would have had a harder time of bringing him here.

So five days before he came south, he renamed the growing city as Demacia. (Boom. Nobody complain okay? I just made a mistake in naming the place in earlier chapters so I'm rectifying this.)

His army numbered near the two thousand mark as he had many on patrols to protect the civilians working in the growing economy of Demacia. All of those soldiers were highly trained and disciplined through Demacian methods. There was no longer a coward, murderer or rapist among them. They were armed with the rune forged weapons and armor produced by the smiths Garen had trained. The weapons and armor produced were just as strong as valyrian steel but lighter. They could now match and no doubt surpass any army within Westeros unless the enemy overwhelmed them with numbers.

He was becoming renowned for courage, ferocity in battle and fairness to all. Despite all this, it was not enough to be able to secure the hand of Margaery Tyrell. She was the daughter of Mace Tyrell, Lord Paramount of the Reach. Highgarden alone was twice the size of Demacia (from now on when I say Demacia it means the one in Westeros. If I'm talking about Runeterra I will say so). The only way he would be able to ask for her hand was if he was of equal or greater rank with her father. Equal in rank meant becoming Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.

The title was currently held by the Tullys. Unfortunately for the Riverlands, House Tully was falling slowly but surely. Hoster Tully, the current lord paramount was dying. His brother, Bryden Tully, known also as the Blackfish refused to marry and settle down. The heir to Riverrun and the lord paramountship, Edmure Tully, was a wenching drunkard oaf who tended to insult his vassals more often than not.

However, unless they died out, Garen would not make any move to secure the paramountship. Why? Despite everything, despite dying and being reincarnated, despite knowing the Game he was still Garen Crownguard.

Garen Crownguard was not someone to take something through intrigue. He lived and breathed as much honor as was afforded him by his opponents. Even if the prize was the lord paramountship of the Riverlands and Margaery's hand.

Garen suddenly paused. Wait, why was he thinking of all this? Why was he contemplating marriage.. to Margaery Tyrell. Why was he thinking as if she was his? Did she even feel something for him? Wouldn't it be better if he knew her better? Would it be so bad to spend some time together first? Wait what?

Garen shook his head and prepared for bed (Rhyme!).

His rebellious mind spoke one last thought before sleep claimed him. Would it be so bad if he did marry her?

 ***The next day***

Garen rose with the sun and went to a nearby practice yard to warm up. A few minutes later he was joined by Garlan. The two men trained in silence for two hours before a servant showed up to tell them that Lady Olenna had summoned them for breakfast.

The two men went to clean up before Garlan led his companion to a pavilion on the grounds where Lady Olenna was waiting.

They ate a meal of exquisitely prepared duck and conversed on a multitude of subjects ranging from the weather to the tourney. Margaery arrived mid meal and joined them. Garen used the opportunity to get to know her, as well as he could, the meal's partakers including Garlan and Lady Olenna and not only the two of them.

He was able to confirm two things about her. She was compassionate to those less fortunate as her and she was as intelligent as she was kind. He was unable, however, to ascertain whether she had feeling for him or she was just being polite and courteous to him.

It may be just as well. He inwardly cursed his heart's fickle nature. In Runeterra, he didn't have to worry about such things. Even with his battlefield romance with Katarina, he never had to discern whether the Sinister Blade wanted him or not. They communicated everything through the blade. (Innuendo!) The honey brown haired girl's eyes betrayed nothing (Thank you, falseprofitt, for Margaery's hair color).

Margaery felt his gaze on her, again. He had been doing that every now and then. She had experienced looks of lust and want before but (un)fortunately he did not gaze at her like he wanted to ravish her. Instead, it was the steady regard she found quite intriguing. He would close his mouth and his face would go blank. Except for the small crinkle of skin when his eyebrows came together and stayed there as long as he was thinking of whatever was going through his thoughts. While her grandmother had taught her how to read men, she had a bit of difficulty understanding him. Whenever his eyes focused on her, they stayed either on her face or hair never wandering. This most likely meant he was thinking of her _(hopefully?)._

A few times, when her brother would joke with him, he would get this far away look in his eyes and then she couldn't read him at all.

Their conversations were polite. Though Margaery was curious and wanted to find out more about him, her grandmother was there. Her grandmother probably already knew of her growing attraction to him but all the same. It would never do for the daughter of a lord paramount to be caught in a scandal. Still she did want to know more about him thus the curious but polite questions. She was about to ask another question when their meal was interrupted. She glared at the man who dared interrupt them, wishing he would disappear before schooling her features.

"Excuse me, my lords and ladies, but a rider has arrived for Lord Frey." Garen swore Margaery glared at the messenger when the man appeared. A second look showed Margaery's face blank so he dismissed the notion. He turned to Lady Olenna who nodded her permission to let the rider come to them.

The messenger was a young man of around twenty in Demacian livery. He brought his closed right fist over his left breast in the demacian salute and bowed.

"My lord."

Garen nodded at the discipline in the messenger's movements. "Report."

"A raven arrived from the Twins arrived, my lord. Your father summons you."

Garen groaned. What was it now? "When did it arrive?"

"A month ago, my lord. I spent most of the month searching for signs of where you went until I heard from an innkeeper you were headed here."

"Very well." Garen turned to Deron, who had been standing beside him. "Go, tell the men to pack. We are leaving for the Twins."

Deron bowed and left with the messenger as Garen turned back to the Tyrells. "I apologize but I must take my leave."

Lady Olenna waved away his apology. "Nonsense. Though it may be our wish that you stayed longer," she gave a sly look at Margaery, "We cannot keep you." _Yet._ Margaery's thoughts went unnoticed by the men.

Garen nodded before facing Margaery. "I am sorry for cutting our meal short, my lady. It would seem duty calls."

"Think nothing of it, Garen." Margaery gave him a gentle smile. "Till we meet again?"

"Till we meet again, my lady." Garen bowed and left. He walked for a few minutes when he realized he had a companion.

"You're not getting rid of me that easy." Garlan said. "I'm going to take advantage of this to see this city of yours. You waxed quite lyrical about it."

Garen matched Garlan's smile and stuck out his hand. Garlan grasped in in a warrior's handshake.

 **Three weeks later,**

"For the last time, Frey, I do not have flowers coming out of my ass."

"What? How can that be possible? You're a Tyrell? What do you mean you don't have flowers growing out of your ass?"

Garen shook his head. The Tyrell's joining of the cavalcade north did little to disrupt the group's camaraderie. The men accepted Garlan's presence and moved on. Well, moved on as in tolerated him. Steffon seemed to make it his life's work to annoy Garlan hence the argument that had been going on since the start of the journey. Telling them to stop would only table the argument for later at the campfire and he would rather let them have it out now.

The days of hard riding had only served to toughen the men of his personal guard. They were now in the southernmost part of Frey lands. The Kingsroad wound around a bend as the road was cutting through the forests. It was quiet, not even the birds and crickets could be heard. Instincts honed in another life tingled. The bend was obscured and the trees made visibility only a several feet around them.

He gave a low whistle. His companions kept up their banter but if you looked very closely you would see shields slip into hands, swords loosened from their sheaths and spears shaken free of their trappings. Garen turned, as if to answer Steffon's banter, gave Garlan a look and returned his attention to the road.

He could hear, in the stillness, the clink of metal. Fatal mistake, surprise and silence are key to a successful ambush. It didn't come from his men so it meant there were men waiting in ambush. No bandit, raider or slaver would willingly operate on Frey lands. Over the past years they had discovered Garen Frey to be an unforgiving and relentless bringer of justice and order. So that left assassins. Whether their target be Garlan or himself would have to wait till they had dealt with the ambush.

They didn't have long to wait. As they came close to turning the bend, Garen saw a man rise from a fallen tree and aim a crossbow. A knife thrown by Garen found his throat and he went down, choking.

The ambushers appeared on one side of the road and let loose a barrage of crossbow bolts at his riders. Fatal mistake, when you plan an ambush you attack from both sides unless the other side is blocked off. You also aim for the horses not the men. The horses make for a bigger target and should the attack fail you can still run without worrying about cavalry on your tail.

The bolts bounced harmlessly off the Frey cavalcade's shields that were inexplicably (to the enemy) ready and negated the danger. Not one Frey fell to the barrage.

" **RAAAHHH!** " Garen furious roar sounded over the battleground as he jumped down and swung his sword. The sword cut clean through three men and four trees. The ambush dissolved into utter chaos as half the Freys dismounted and engaged the attackers on the ground. They easily sliced through the enemy as every single one of them were armed with demacian steel. The enemy's blows bounced off their armor. The same could not be said for them, as they carved their way outward.

Garlan found himself blinking. They were joking around then he heard Garen whistle. His companions stiffened. He saw that his companions were on the surface were calm. They were still smiling and joking around. But his warrior senses, honed by his adventures as a hedge knight, knew differently. There was the hand that strayed to loosen the sword. The other hand looped its fingers through the straps of their shield.

The first thoughts that went through his head was that Garen was betraying him. As improbable as that might sound to some people, Garlan knew the Game was a game of betrayal. He would not go down without a fight. Then Garen looked at him. Garen's eyes held anger and confidence. He looked at him then pointed at the forest with his eyes.

Garlan's eyes widened slightly. He listened and heard nothing. His instincts immediately went on alert. You never heard nothing in the forests unless there was danger that lurked. He now understood the whistle and Garen's look directed at him.

The whistle was a command prearranged with his men. The look was to tell him of the danger. He made a promise in his mind to apologize to Garen when he had the chance for thinking the big warrior would betray a friend. When the ambush started he stuck to Garen's side. It was hard though. His friend was off his horse in a flash. His sword cleaved ten men in two before Garlan could get off his horse. He dismounted quickly and hurried to guard Garen's flank. The two of them cut through the enemy with more ease than when they worked together during the melee. This was because they know knew how to fight alongside each other.

The ambush was swiftly backfired on the attackers as they faced a prepared group of armored behemoths. Within moments, the enemy were either dead or dying.

He saw Garen marching over to the only attacker who was unscathed. Garlan had seen Garen knock the man up in the air and into the Frey battle circle. He now knew that was on purpose. An interrogation was in order. He fell in step with his friend. It was time for questions to be answered.

 **A/N: And CLIFFHANGER! Haha.. Who were the attackers? Why did they attack Garen, Garlan and their companions? Find out next time on Into the Frey.. XD Please leave a review, people.**

 **Update will be coming… Next week I think. I'm workin on another fanfic at the moment but we'll see if we can accelerate the schedule.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hello hello hello. Here's another chapter for Into the Frey. But first a few announcements. First, I have edited the previous chapters, lowering the number of men from ten thousand to around two thousand. The ten thousand men was an error on my part as I didn't know the actual number of men the Freys had in canon. The story will start to diverge from canon but the numbers need to remain the same, at least for now. Second, I am announcing the schedule of updates. Updates will now be once or twice a month, depending on demands on my time. Okay that's it for now. Please read and review.**

 **Chapter 6**

Garlan grimaced as screams of pain and begging for mercy that rent the air were silenced. Garen had been surprisingly efficient in his interrogation. After checking for casualties among their number and finding none, Garen ordered a small fire to be made. While this was done, half of the men stood guard and the other searched the bodies for clues. Cries of anger sounded when the men found the few ambushers that had carried shields. The shields all were marked with the twin towers of the Freys of the Crossing.

Needless to say, they were eager to get answers. Once the fire was lit, the captive was tied up securely to a strong overhanging branch so that his bare feet were dangling over the fire. He awoke to the uncomfortable heat on his toes.

The captive screamed in fear and thrashed about until a blow to the stomach quieted him momentarily. Garen and his men had obviously done this before as they extracted bit by bit the information they needed. According to the captive, he and his group had been sent to ambush them by Emmon Frey with orders to kill Garen and all the members of the Freyguard.

Garlan felt some pity for the captive. A smidge of pity. But the man had willingly participated in an ambush on a group who were merely travelling, harming no one. After extracting the information, Garen slit the man's throat, putting him out of his misery.

Garlan was slightly disgusted at the torture but he knew that there had been no quick way to get the information they needed. He was, surprised, to see Garen willing or rather capable of carrying out torture efficiently. His assessment of the tall warrior was revised a bit. Then he did something Garlan remembered for quite a while

Garen opened a map and took a small blue crystal out of his pouch. He then smashed it on the ground. Garlan started when the crystal made a small explosion of light. His face showed his emotions when a small blue light appeared on the map, right where they were currently located. A moment later a few minutes later, a red light appeared over where the Twins was and another along the route they were taking. A small blue light appeared several days from where they were. Garen snapped the map shut and everyone mounted up. Garlan looked at Garen. The message was clear: "Explain later." Garen nodded.

Garen cursed as he ordered the group to mount up. He still did not know what was happening. The man he had tortured had precious little information. All he knew was who sent him and what he was sent to do. That was it. It was surprisingly cunning of Emmon to do. But he still needed more information. At the very least, this meant that the Twins was not safe, so he turned his group east to find a ford that would allow them to cross the Green Fork and bypass the Twins.

The ping crystals at least confirmed that the Twins was hostile as well as their route. A small consolation was that a force of Demacians were near the border and would wait for them.

It took them three days to find a ford and an additional two to skirt around the Twins and Frey territory. Technically, almost all of the land immediately below the Neck belonged to the Freys. But as Garen and his followers had separated, they had begun to be associated and associate themselves with their city. The information they had was limited. All they knew for sure was that they had Emmon Frey and probably his group as enemies. Emmon had also amassed enough power to send a force of Frey soldiers to attack Garen. This either meant that Walder Frey may be dead, incapacitated or supporting Emmon in killing Garen, for whatever reason the old man took into his weasely brain. So for the time being, Garen and his group had to assume that all the Freys of the Twins were enemies and that they were currently treading in enemy territory.

Several miles up the road they came upon a site of a small battle. The road was littered with bodies. At first Garen thought they were Demacians but upon inspection they discovered that this was not the case. Both of the sides were dressed in garb and armaments used by the Freys of the Twins. The difference was that the soldiers of one of the sides had white rags tied to their arms and helmets. They also had thrown white wash on their shields.

When Garen's men scraped off the paint they discovered the tower of the twins under the white wash. Garen growled. More questions now appeared as they continued at a faster pace. The men who were fighting the soldiers of the Twins were obviously former Frey soldiers as well. Every few miles, the cavalcade would come upon a few more of the bodies.

The former Frey soldiers were obviously either deserters or defectors. The difference was if they were deserters they would have scattered throughout the land in small groups. These ones were moving in company strength toward Demacia with the Freys in hot pursuit. The occasional bodies were probably from rearguard actions to slow down their pursuers. A day's travel later, the tracks were getting fresher and fresher.

The rebel Freys must have taken something for the Frey forces to follow them relentlessly.

Finally the cavalcade rode up a hill to find a battle raging down below. The white rags tied onto the rebels could be seen as they were half encircled by the forces of the Freys. Though the press of battle was obscuring some of the view, they could estimate that the rebel Freys numbered less than four hundred footmen while the Frey forces numbered six or seven hundred strong.

The Freys were working very hard to encircle the rebels while the white rags were desperately trying to pull back over the rise behind them. Garlan's eagle eye spotted something at the center of the rebels. A closer look revealed several small figures being shielded in the center of the formation, obviously children.

Garlan sighed as Garen snarled and drew his sword. In the short time that he had known him, he found that Garen had a strong sense of justice. His friend was shaking with rage. It was only the man's excellent tactical sense that stopped him from charging immediately into battle though it was only a matter of time.

Garlan had a bit of a thrill seeker in him but that didn't mean he was suicidal. Despite this, he lined his mount beside his friend as the rest of their group formed up in a wedge formation behind them. Garen kicked his horse forward silently. Without a word, his men followed behind him. Garlan smirked slightly as he read his friend's thoughts.

Despite being angry at the Freys, he still put together a feasible plan. They numbered only twenty and two. This wasn't nearly enough to support the rebels. So the only way Garen could utilize his men with the biggest chance of survival was a charge into the enemy's unguarded rear. Hopefully this would be enough to confuse the enemy and throw them into rout. It was a semblance of a plan at least. It would remain to be seen if they would survive. Garen's grim look told all.

They were halfway down the hill when several banners appeared behind the rebel position. Garlan glanced at Garen who was a few feet in front of him. His face was split in a savage smile. They were few yards away from the battle when Garen let loose a war cry.

" **DEMACIA!** " He roared. His cry seemed to reach deep within, instilling courage and pride in each of the men. Garlan felt his heart beat harder and faster in anticipation.

" **DEMACIA!** " His men echoed the cry. Garlan could see surprise, shock and fear in the faces of the Freys that turned around and spotted them. The rebels fought harder as they realized that help was near. Just before they crashed into the enemy line, the forces that came over the hill smashed into the enemy's left wing.

" **FORWARD!** " Garen cried as he plowed straight through the enemy. His gigantic charger trampled down four men and bowled over several more. Their charge slammed the enemy Freys into the waiting swords of the rebels.

Garlan thrust his sword downward at a frightened soldier as Garen cleaved a mounted officer in half with his great sword. Garen's charger reared then brought it's hooves down on two men, smashing their skulls to bits. Garlan cut another down and then that was it. The combined effect of surprise enemy reinforcements and a devastating rear charge did it. The Freys broke and ran.

Garen then turned to face the rebels. "Who is in charge?" He asked in a tone of command.

A man stepped forward. "I am." He said. Garen nodded and dismounted. He walked to the center of the rebel formation. Garlan and his bodyguard followed. Garen stopped in front of a little girl of maybe nine years. Her brown hair was unkept and windblown, her brown eyes were wide with fear. He knelt down in front of her and looked at her. She was scared but was otherwise fine. The little girl looked like she wanted to run but spotted a medallion with the Demacian symbol on it which Garen had pinned to his half cloak.

She took one look at it then leaped into Garen's arms, sobbing. Garen rubbed her back gently and whispered soothing words in her ears. Garen then stood up with the child in his arms and turned to the rebel captain.

"We have no time for lengthy explanations at the moment." Garen growled. "We need to reach the safety of Demacia. But when we do, I expect a full explanation about this."

The man nodded his assent and ordered his men up. All of Garen's party rode double with a child in front of them. The children were subdued through the two days of travel to Demacia. Garen attributed it to trauma.

The citizens of the city seemed to struggle to find the right emotions to show. Confusion and fear at the events happening, happiness at the return of their lord and curiosity at the condition of the children and the presence of the rebels.

Malvor met Garen at the entrance of the city with a somber look. This brightened when one of the young boys cried out and ran to him. "Father!" The little boy cried over and over.

Malvor looked at Garen. "Thank you for giving me back my son, my lord."

"It was not completely my doing, cousin." Garen replied, nodding at the rebel captain.

"Then I extend my heartfelt gratitude to you, ser." Malvor said to the man.

"Thank you , my lord but I think you need to hear what I have to say." The man said. Malvor led Garen, Garlan and the rebel captain to the great hall while the others went to the barracks for some food and rest.

"My name is Borlyn, my lord. I was a captain in service to your late father. Your father died two months ago from a cold. The maester called it pneumonia, I believe."

Garen nearly said good riddance but held himself in control. Captain Borlyn continued. "At his death Emmon and Black Walder seized control of the Twins with their supporters. Emmon then sent a raven to Demacia in your father's name, demanding that all Freys return to the Twins. Your cousin Malvor remained in Demacia, however, most of the Freys of the Narrows did journey to the Twins. Once there, Emmon ordered us to kill them all."

Anger coursed through all present. Killing kin in combat was one thing but slaying children was despicable.

"I was able to convince your half-brother to hold off their execution till they at least had a last meal and a good night's rest. And in the dead of night, gathered all the men loyal to me, who were equally horrified at the orders given us and took all the children away." His tone of pride in their accomplishment slowly turned to sorrow. "I, however, was not able to reach any of the women or menfolk. They were held in the other side of the Twins. We escaped but were pursued. I had to order men to stall them again and again so we could escape."

"We are thankful for all you have done. If you had not then you would have died trying to save all and yet saving nothing." Garen said, as he caressed the sleeping girl, whose name they learned was Melian, a niece of Garen somewhere down the line. She had refused to be parted from Garen and he himself was reluctant to part with the girl with the news that had come to light.

Garen looked at Malvor, who was cradling his son as well. "I hereby extend you and your men protection and employment. Whether or not you accept is irrelevant as you have done us a great service. As long as you live, you are welcome in this city." He said to Borlyn.

"I thank you in the name of my men, my lord. We would be honored to serve you." The man bowed.

"There is the small matter of the coming civil war." Garen looked each of those present in the eye. "I will wipe out every one of those who reside in that castle." The people listening shivered when they saw the steel in Garen's eyes. "However, that might bring you into conflict with your former comrades."

Borlyn shook his head. "All of my comrades followed me when we fled the Twins. Every single sons of whores that remain at the Twins cheered when your half-brother ordered the children's deaths. They are no comrades of mine." He said grimly.

"Alright then. Maester Merlyn, remain, the rest are dismissed. We have letters to write." Garen stood. "Get some rest everyone, you'll need it, for next time you awake we will be at war."

Ravens flew that day to all the major lords of the land. Winterfell, Highgarden, Casterly Rock, Sunspear, Riverrun, King's Landing received these messengers of war among other keeps.

 _I, Garen Frey, lord of Demacia, hereby renounce and denounce all who reside at the Twins for explicitly planning and carrying out the massacre of innocent kin. I hereby renounce any relation with those of House Frey and declare them unfit to live. They taint this land by merely existing. The blood of the innocent cry out for justice. I will cleanse this land of their taint, in the name of the Maiden. May the Maiden have mercy on them for I shall have none._

 _Garen Frey, Lord of Demacia_

 **A/N: Haha What do you guys think? Please review people and tell me what you think.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hello hello hello. My sincerest apologies valued readers and reviewers. I planned on updating but things kept cropping up. April was filled with me rushing to finish my thesis. May was filled with running from professor to professor, getting my clearance done. Graduated college at the end of May. So yeah, that's why I haven't updated recently. And then, oho, and then I got a new laptop as a graduation gift so I spent the first week of June moving files and installing programs. Then freaking Windows 10 freaking updates and LOSES ALL MY FILES! I had 20 GB worth of anime and 10 GB of music in those… AS WELL AS MY FUKIN PAPERWORK, which by the way, includes all my fanfic documents, as well as my rewrites. So now I freaking have to start from scratch.**

 **Done with my rant. Please read, review and enjoy. Thanks Microsoft.**

 **WARNING! GRAPHIC SCENES IN THIS CHAPTER. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.**

 **Chapter 7**

Garlan stared in disgust and horror at the scene in front of him. At the main crossroad leading up to the Twins was a scene of unimaginable barbarism and insanity. A mound stood at the crossroad, covering much of the road. Looking at it from a distance, one might be forgiven for thinking it a simple mound of earth. That is until you get closer. The mound was composed of bodies. A main mound surrounded by a lower circular mound, all made up of bodies. Yes, bodies. The stench permeated the air. It was systematic torture for no other purpose that torture for its own sake.

The gender of the victims was easily distinguishable. The men made up the circle around the main mound. Their deaths were relatively easy. They either were stabbed to death or had their heads chopped off.

The main horror was reserved for the women. The main mound was composed of only women. They were stripped naked. It was obvious they were raped before they were killed, mostly by disembowelment. Some had their vaginas torn open or inside out. The enemy had taken great pleasure in arranging the scene so as to give no doubt to any who saw that the rape did not end with their deaths. At the top of the mound were several pikes on which were mounted the heads of the Frey womenfolk who had been summoned to the Twins. Their naked bodies were staked out beneath the pikes

More than half the Demacian force emptied their stomachs, Garlan included. The Frey commanders cried out as they recognized wives, mothers, sisters and daughters whose heads adorned the pikes. Garlan, like the rest of the force unoccupied with mourning, turned their gaze on Garen who stood silently in front of the mound.

Everything had been going smoothly for them until now. They had defeated Twins' forces twice in the month that followed the ambush on the Kingsroad. A third victory was snatched from the jaws of defeat when a force of twenty knights appeared behind the enemy and smashed into their flank, relieving Garen's beleaguered right flank. In the confusion Garen was able to push reinforcements to the flank, causing the enemy to crumble. The battles had whittled the enemy down to around two hundred men. Garen's forces numbered about eight hundred, as the loses had still been high despite the tactical brilliance of Garen and the bravery of his troops. An additional four hundred returned from securing the countryside bringing the numbers up to more than a thousand.

Garlan could see Garen's fists tightening and a faint golden aura shining. He remembered the night he asked Garen about magic. How had he done that? Was that magic? If it as did he have it? Why did he show it to Garlan instead of hiding it?

Garen answered his questions patiently. Yes, it was magic. Yes, he did have it. Magic was returning to Westeros. As for the reason why Garlan was shown magic. Here Garen shrugged.

"You would find out eventually, anyway. I trusted you." He said.

Garlan ground his teeth in frustration. Who would just randomly trust someone like that. He said as much to Garen.

"First of all, I did not trust any random person. I trusted a friend who has shed sweat and blood by my side." Garen stood to leave the tent.

"Besides," he said half turned to leave. "If you had proven false, you would have been eliminated." A grim look came over his face. "I may not like the Game. But I am in it. I'll be damned if I let a foe to destroy my people without a fight."

Garlan grimaced. There was only one culprit here. The standard of the Twins fluttered in the slight breeze from its position at the edge of the mound of dead. He could swear Garen's frame had steam wafting from it.

On Garen's orders a mass grave was dug. Into it the bodies were gently laid to rest. The standard of the Twins was burned as the men swore vengeance. It was nearly noon the next day before they saw the twin towers. The men grimly set about building a siege camp. Trees were chopped, ditches dug and lines drawn. Three days later, they had built a temporary bridge further up the river. Over this bridge Garen sent five hundred men. They circled around and surrounded the Twins. There would be no escape from what was due.

Two weeks passed without event. Garen's army was preoccupied with building two mangonels and a single large siege tower. Strangely enough, there seemed to be a feast going on inside the enemy castle. As if the siege was nothing, drunken Frey soldiers would prance along the battlements to taunt the Demacians. Garen ordered no response be given. They would get a reply soon enough. The Demacian soldiers merely nodded and resumed their grim stoic guard posts.

 **King's Landing**

"What is that boy doing?" Robert Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms, bellowed. The table in the council room was currently occupied with a detailed map of the Twins area. The council stood around the table and the king. "He just sits there. What is he waiting for? You would think he would have tried to assault the castle by now."

"He seems to be biding his time, Your Grace." Stannis Baratheon replied.

"I can see that." The king snorted. "If I were in command I would have led an assault already."

"He waits for his tower to be finished. It seems the man has caution." Renly grunted.

Robert waved a hand. "Bah. A few ladders would be enough."

"And have his men slaughtered?" Stannis growled.

Robert glared at his brother. "What would you do, brother? Wait till the Seven hells froze over?"

Seeing another argument between the brothers Varys intervened. "Should Your Grace have truly allowed this conflict to continue without arbitration? A war, albeit a small one, will weaken the realm."

Again Robert dismissed this. "Bah. It is not like anything could be done to stop them. Especially after they found out what happened to their women." The council donned grim masks. They had all received the reports from Varys' spies. Of the massacre and subsequent desecration of the bodies. Robert prior to the event had been contemplating ordering the conflict to cease and summoning both side's leaders to King's Landing. The news of the massacre changed his mind. From what they understood of the events, Walder Frey had summoned all the women and children related to the Freys to the Twins.

Garen Frey, who was in Highgarden, was summoned North. According to the spies, the party with Garlan Tyrell as a tag-along, were ambushed on the Kingsroad along the limits of Frey territory. It was unclear how long the ambush had been put in place. What was clear, however, was the perpetrators were Frey men who had orders to kill. Again, whether that order was to kill Garen Frey or not was unclear during the time but newer reports revealed that Walder Frey had died a month prior to this.

That meant a conspiracy in the Twins to eliminate any and all rivals. Unfortunately for the plotters, Garen Frey failed to die as they planned. Instead he reached Demacia, rallying his people and marshalling his troops. Hence the small war in the Riverlands, specifically in the Twins area.

Garen had shown a knowledge of tactics, defeating his rivals in two decisive battle and scraping by with a third victory to drive his enemy from his land and deep into their own.

Now the Twins was surrounded and besieged. Despite his bravado, Robert knew the Twins' reputation. There was a reason why the house's words were almost changed to "We always get our due." The two high towers that made up the castle/bridge overlooked each bank. On the top floor were catapults that were zeroed on the entrance to the bridge. Anything that wanted to pass was under the gaze of these plus the crossbow bolts, arrows and whatever else the defenders had prepared. The bridge itself was only a few hundred feet wide, accommodating two large wagons moving side by side.

Sieging this fortress was quite a daunting task. However, Garen was proving a dauntless foe.

 **The Twins, The Riverlands**

"Get that mangonel reloaded! I want that thing firing every five minutes!" Malvor roared at the crew manning the southern bank's mangonel. They had launched their assault before dawn, sending flaming comets arching through the darkness to strike the bars of the Twins southern gate. Their job was twofold. First, they had to distract the garrison from the main assault on the other side. By attacking first, they forced the enemy to divide his forces between the two castle towers thereby weakening the defense overall. Second, hidden under tarps, were four heavy scaling ladders. Built in secret and carted in silently during the night when the siege tower hit the walls, they would uncover the ladders and charge the southern tower.

This was to confuse the defenders and relieve some of the pressure from the warriors in the siege tower. Hopefully it would be enough. Malvor ducked a bolt that flew from a window somewhere in the upper stories. He directed a group of archers to fire into the windows as his men reloaded the mangonel. Just as the mangonel reloaded he heard two horn blasts, the prearranged signal to launch his own assault on the southern tower. He knew by the sounds of the fighting, that his cousin had engaged the other tower and was locked in combat. They had to relieve the pressure from the other side.

"Alright, you whoresons, get the fuckin ladders out! Mangonel, aim for the top of the tower. I want them all dead you hear?!" Malvor shouted. The men roared their reply as they rushed to their duties. The ladders were uncovered and a team of men carried them into position. Malvor could hear frantic cries of alarm from the defenders as they spotted the ladders being carried towards them.

His men scrambled to protect the teams carrying the ladders with their shields from the spray of arrows that the defenders sent, desperate to stop the ladders reaching the wall. Several arrows found their mark, as men reached up to grab at new wounds and cry out in pain, but the men simply replaced their wounded comrades.

The burning inferno of their anger had cooled a bit over to the past weeks to a smoldering fury. They would avenge their families, their people, their comrades. The ladders went up, up and latched onto the tower's crenellations. Up the ladder, scrambled the men as flaming ammunition from the mangonel slammed into the top of the tower for the last time before the crew ceased so as to avoid hitting their own.

Malvor was first up the ladder and onto the tower. He thrust his blade through the face of a defender that appeared before him. The blade went through the man's skull and out the back. He ripped the sword out as he blocked a blow with his shield. He knocked his attacker to the side and right into the blade of one of his men who had reached the top. Another Frey defender charged him but he simply waited until the right moment, then lowered his body till the enemy made contact and then pushed up and behind him. The Frey flew over the crenellations and to his death on the bridge floor below.

Then all was quiet. No more defenders rushed him or his men. From the other side, the fighting stopped as well. From his position, Malvor could see Garen look around, sheath his greatsword on his back and draw a short sword, Garen called it a gladius, which he knew his cousin used for combat within a city or castle where the fighting was too close for the use of his greatsword. His cousin looked at him from across the distance. He nodded and waved for his men to begin moving down the stairs into the keep.

 **A/N: Hello guys. That's the chapter for now. Yay I'm back. This was supposed to be posted last month but I was busy doing relief operations in Marawi. For those of you who don't know where that is, well it's in southern Philippines, Mindanao. Anyways, I was busy with that for a while so sorry for not updating. Thank you for your understanding and for reviewing.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Okay guys. Here is another awaited chapter. If you like it please review and leave me with your thoughts.**

 **A bit of warning. A bit of graphic stuff here.**

 **Chapter 8**

 **The Twins, The Riverlands**

Garen descended the stairs at a steady but cautious pace, expecting to be attacked at any second. For him and his men, the descent was nerve wracking. Outside, the sounds of the siege filled the air. Inside, an eerie silence was all that greeted them. Room by room, floor by floor, they searched for sign of their enemies but found none. There was not even a lit candle stand.

Frustrated, Garen headed for the most probable location for a stand, the dining hall of the tower. Sure enough, the halls leading to it were lined with lit torches that were missing from the other halls.

The doors to the dining hall were barred shut from the inside. Garen's men brought up a makeshift battering ram, scavenged from one of the castle's stone pillars, and went to work.

Boom! Boom! Boom! The stout doors resisted for a second before splintering on the fourth blow from the ram. Garen kicked away the fragments of wood in his way and moved in, followed closely by his men.

They expected a cornered enemy, ready to fight. An enemy who knew that they could expect no mercy from their foes, and so would fight to the last. But that was not to be. The bodies of the Freys of the Twins were piled up on each other, all over the tables and chairs of the large hall.

The bodies were lifeless, eyes glassy, mouths agape. Garen's men felt uneasy at the sight and who could blame them. They expected a fight but instead received this morbid finish. A few of Garen's men stabbed the bodies to make sure they were dead but nothing moved.

Garen could sense residual magic from the cups and goblets the bodies still clutched in their lifeless hands. He knew poisoning when he saw it. What was strange was that the poison seemed magical in nature.

"No one touch their cups." He ordered. "They have been poisoned."

The men that were closest to the corpses drew away in a hurry. A mad laugh rang through the hallway. All of the Demacians gripped their weapons tightly and turned towards the sound.

Black Walder stood, swaying gleefully back and forth, from the lord's dias. Garen growled at the sight of one of his old enemies. He marched to the bastard of the Twins with bared teeth. Stopping short of the dias, he saw another of his old enemies, Emmon. The man had a look of insanity frozen on his face as his right hand still gripped the blade that he had plunged into his chest.

Garen spat at his half-brother's corpse. "What the fuck is going on?" He demanded of the madly swaying Black Walder. The bastard merely giggled and raised a glass at him. Garen growled and made to remove the man's head when a voice stopped him.

"He cannot answer you mi lord. The poison has completely taken over his mind." The voice belonged to an old crone who hobbled out from behind the lord's chair she had been hiding behind. She was dressed in a tattered cloak of dubious make and origin. Garen shifted his gaze on her. His men made as if to draw their weapons.

"Mi lord. If you would stay your blade for a moment." Garen eyed her suspiciously. What was she doing here? Regardless, he gave her permission to speak.

"I am an old woman. My life has been hard. My only light are the gods and my own daughter." She explained. "My daughter, Lily, was fair of skin and pure of heart. The joy of my life. She would not hurt a fly."

Tears began forming in her eyes as she spoke. "When your lord father saw her and took her to his bed, my heart tore. But such is the plight of us smallfolk. We are forever at the mercy of the lord of the land. If that had been all then I would have borne it. I would have borne it, mi lord. However,"

Here anger colored the woman's tone. "when he passed away those two bastards," she pointed at Black Walder and Emmon. "took her, raped her then turned her over to their guards for them to rape." Sobs wracked the woman's frame as she told her story.

Disgust and pity showed on the faces of Garen's men but he himself remained impassive. The story wasn't finished.

"I entered the castle to see her. To see my Lily. I watched from the stables as my beloved daughter was taken again and again and AGAIN!" The woman was screaming now. "THEY TOOK HER LIKE ANIMALS! RUTTING IN ALL HER HOLES! OVER AND OVER AND OVER!"

Her voice lowered to a whisper. "Whenever her mouth was clear, she begged them to stop. She begged for them to at least let her rest for a moment. The brutes refused her.. Then… and then.." Her voice cracked and she paused to regain her composure for a bit. "Then she saw me. She saw her mother looking at her." Tares freely flowing, the crone looked at Garen. "Her heart could not take the strain. She died that moment. I could sense the life leave her."

"What mother should see that happen to her child?" She asked broken heartedly.

Then a look of hate replaced the sorrow. "Oh but the Old gods are not as weak as the New." She cackled.

"You were a hedge witch." Garen stated. The woman grinned maniacally.

"Yes, mi lord. I set myself up in this room. The Old gods showed me which herbs to put in their drinks. They never suspected that the old crone serving them would be their end. I was only ever able to poison that which was in this room but it was enough. The madness of the gods took them." She cackled madly.

The looks of horror on the men's faces did not surprise Garlan. The story now made sense, if it was a bit farfetched for those that did not believe in magic.

The witch had poisoned the Freys of the Twins with madness. That would explain much of the actions they took, as they gradually succumbed to the poison. He looked at Garen. His friend was silent for the longest time. Then he spoke.

"You killed thousands of innocents, visiting pain and suffering upon those who had done you nothing."

"Oh spare me your words, mi lord." The witch scoffed. "Countless innocents suffer from the lords all the time."

Garen nodded to the truth of her words. "I understand that you deserved justice. But this," He waved at the corpses. "is goes beyond that. This is madness." He gripped his great sword and stepped toward her. "You will face justice for your actions."

The old woman faced him defiantly. "And what about the lords that commit acts upon the smallfolk? Will you make them face them justice as well?" She spat.

"Yes." Garen said, grimly. All those present were shocked. The way Garen had stated it as a promise, no, a fact. A look of surprise came over the witch's face before it faded into serene acceptance.

"Very well." The old woman knelt before Garen. "Bring justice, mi lord." She said with a smile, before the sword descended.

There was silence in the hall as all those present thought upon the events that had taken them by surprise.

Garen cleaned his blade of blood. He then issued orders. All the bodies were to be burned along with all the food in the room. The remainder of the food stores were to be checked over for the poisoning. Now he had to make up a story about all this. It would not do for all of Westeros to hear what really happened here.

Then he needed to deal with the mess that was the Frey lands.

"My lord." One of his men rushed into the hall. "You must see what we found in the dungeons."

Garen sighed. A lord's work is never done.

* * *

 **A/N: Ugh… I kinda feel a bit sick writing this shyet. Bleugh… I can't write more. Ugh. It's a bit short but I haven't updated in a while. Thought I'd give you guys something to read. I hate this chapter to be honest.  
**


	9. Announcement

**Announcement:**

 **For the past two months I have been working on the next chapter for Into the Frey. Over that time I have written and rewritten the chapter at least 10 times on paper and more than a dozen in my head.**

 **Two days ago I came to two horrible realizations. I picked the wrong family to put Garen into and I picked the wrong guy to do a crossover. Those were the reasons why its was so hard to write.**

 **Let me explain. Firstly, the family.**

 **The Freys are a family that are a family that only rose to prominence within the last hundred years of Westeros history. They are not a Great House and are only considered a noble house because they control the Twins. Their castle-bridge allows them to control most of the traffic coming and going north. They also have the worst reputation mainly because of Walder Frey.**

 **Second problem is Garen himself. From what I know of Garen, he is a soldier. A damn good one but still a soldier. He follows orders, stands firm as a rock and is always about justice. Here is the problem with that. HE IS NOT AMBITIOUS. His family name is Crownguard. They are nobles and that name implies that at some point in Demacian history, they guarded the kings of Demacia. Now, Lux did become Queen/Empress of Demacia however that could mean that either she married Jarvan IV or she took the throne. Either way that means she has a modicum of ambition. Garen not so much.**

 **Okay mistakes made. I did try to change Garen a bit but if I changed too much then he wouldn't be Garen. Despite the changes I tried to make, the character I put into Westeros still remains the same. Not so much ambition. He would probably stay content with his lands, doing his duty.**

 **How would he have risen to power? There were two ways that I saw. First is that he could have become Paramount of the Riverlands and then broke off from the Iron Throne, returning Westeros to Seven actual Kingdoms.**

 **Second is that he unites Westeros into a republic. Either way, his name will bar his way into the higher courts. If he married Margaery that would give him the Reach but only through marriage. His family would always be upstarts who were just lucky enough to dupe a Tyrell into marrying one of them.**

 **Originally I was planning to go the independent kingdoms route. But then there's a problem. The Lannisters and Danaerys. The Lannisters would never allow the Riverlands or the Reach to go free especially since both lands are the breadbasket of the Seven Kingdoms. Danaerys would NEVER allow them to leave because "The Throne is mine by right" and all that shyet. So dead end.**

 **The republic thingy is bad as well. Dany again wont go for it and there is little incentive for the rest of Westeros to fall into line. Even if they did, they'd just move the Game out of the royal courts and into the republics chambers. Nothing changed. Ugh.**

 **So I hereby declare this fanfic dead.**


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